


The arrow has left the bow of the goddess

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Series: You and I could end the world in fire or blood [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angeal is best BFF, M/M, Pre-Slash, mako poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 14:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18143621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: In which Genesis Rhapsodos, SOLDIER Third Class, is determined to be neither impressed nor intimidated by the great General Sephiroth, SOLDIER First Class. Angeal just wants to eat his lunch in peace.





	The arrow has left the bow of the goddess

The Shinra barracks cafeteria served food that was of dubious taste, but high in protein and carbohydrates, as they were responsible for nourishing the cadets in the SOLDIER program, who were often still growing, since the program recruited as boys as young as sixteen. Some of them were also undergoing mako treatments, which sped up a body’s metabolism.

So Shinra ensured that food was plentiful, if not delicious, served twenty-four hours a day in the windowless cafeteria on the forty-sixth floor of Shinra Tower. The tower was so big it housed the entire SOLDIER program, which occupied floors forty-two through forty-eight. Sephiroth lived on floor forty-seven, alone in a small complex of apartments reserved for Firsts and Seconds in the SOLDIER program, of which there were none save him. It didn’t bother him. He was used to being alone, and it was a nice change of pace from sleeping in an enclosure in Hojo’s lab, as he had done for most of his childhood.

Like the barracks, the cafeteria was segregated by rank, leaving Sephiroth again alone at the far edge. He didn’t mind this either, as it made it easier to read or get work done while he was eating.

Today he had a book on military strategy that had recently been released. It included a great many maneuvers from the early days of the Wutai war—most of which were his own—and thoroughly dissected their effectiveness. So far, Sephiroth had found it a very enlightening read, even if he took issue with some interpretations, as the author’s knowledge of each situation was limited by not having been there.

_There were over a thousand casualties on each side over seven days as the drawn-out battle continued. General Sephiroth, though still alive and still working as a Shinra SOLDIER First Class, declined to comment on the lives lost at the siege._

This was not surprising. Although Sephiroth would have been happy to speak with the author, who was a renowned military historian, Shinra’s PR department had obviously shut him down before word could get to Sephiroth. Perhaps that was for the best, as Sephiroth’s defense of his strategy at the siege—a strategy which had indeed cost many lives—was merely to state that there was no alternative that resulted in victory.

He looked up from his book to see a man about his own age setting his cafeteria tray down directly opposite Sephiroth’s. The newcomer was striking, with reddish brown hair that fell into his sparkling eyes, his lips turned in a slight, defiant smile. His uniform marked him as a new SOLDIER Third Class recruit, which put him one level above the general population, but still several ranks below Sephiroth.

The man sat down, met Sephiroth’s eyes for just a moment, and then he began to eat. If he felt any discomfort or awkwardness, he didn’t show it. He ate ravenously enough to make it clear he had only just arrived and was at the most potent and debilitating stage of mako treatments.

Sephiroth raised his eyebrows. This was something for which there was no precedent—no one had ever tried to sit at his table before. He wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  “There you are.” Another Third approached, a man with a broad, stern face, brow creased in confusion. “Genesis, what are you…” he trailed off, his eyes on Sephiroth.

“I’m having lunch,” Genesis clarified. “You may as well join me, Angeal.”

“Um.” Angeal looked from Sephiroth to Genesis, then shrugged. “Okay.”

Sephiroth wondered if the two of them were planning to ask for an autograph, or if they would try to engage him in the kind of tiresome conversation people always expected of the Great General Sephiroth. He was really not in the mood.

Genesis lifted his head, tossing his hair back, and did a surprising job of holding Sephiroth’s gaze. “Everyone here is seated according to rank. Including us.”

Angeal rubbed his forehead, casting an apologetic look at Sephiroth. “I’m sorry about Genesis. He’s always—”

“Don’t.” Genesis’s one chiding word was enough to silence Angeal. “We’re not Firsts only because you can’t take the test until you’ve done six months of training. But we belong here.”

What their game was, Sephiroth could only guess at. Did they want something from him, or were they really only trying to prove a point, and maybe get their test moved up a few months? Whatever it was, it really wasn’t his problem.

“I don’t care where you sit,” he said mildly, and turned back to his book.

#

Angeal tried to keep his curious glances at Sephiroth to a minimum. He knew Genesis was determined not to be impressed, but he didn’t mind admitting (to himself, not Genesis) that General Sephiroth was at least a little awe-inspiring.

Sitting in the bright, sterile cafeteria, he could feel Genesis’s pique at being so handily dismissed. Sephiroth had barely glanced at them before turning back to his book, as though Thirds sat at his table every day.

Halfway through the meal, which they ate in silence because Genesis would rather prove a point than have a pleasant lunch joking around with the other new recruits, Angeal dared a glance at the cover of Sephiroth’s book.

Surprisingly enough, it was one he had read. He enjoyed books on military strategy, and sometimes quoted their dry recitations of numbers and geography as a form of defense against Genesis’s neverending font of poetry.

“Do you like it?” he asked Sephiroth.

Sephiroth lowered it just enough to give him a curious look. “Do I like it?” he repeated, sounding baffled.

“The book, I mean,” Angeal said, feeling his face heat. Of course he would make an idiot of himself talking to Shinra’s finest hero.

Sephiroth studied the book like he’d never seen it before. “I don’t know,” he said, finally. “I don’t read for enjoyment. But I have found it very informative.”

“I liked it,” Angeal said, a little baffled by Sephiroth’s response. “I thought the author’s take on countering ninjitsu tactics was insightful. But of course I’ve never been to Wutai,” he quickly added. “I’ve just read about it.”

“Wutai is…” Sephiroth tilted his head, thinking. “…interesting.”

Angeal waited for him to say more, but nothing seemed to be forthcoming.

“We’ll see it soon enough,” Genesis said firmly. “Once they promote us.”

Sephiroth cast a brief glance at him. “On the front, things are a little different. I don’t care if you break rank in Shinra Tower. But if you do so in Wutai, I will take appropriate disciplinary action.”

Beside Angeal, Genesis sat straighter. “We’re not breaking rank,” he said defiantly, all passionate fire against Sephiroth’s icy indifference. “This is where we belong. You’ll see it soon enough.”

“Hmm.” Sephiroth raised a single silvery eyebrow. “We’ll see." Then he gathered his tray and his book and walked away, his black coat flaring behind him as he crossed the cafeteria.

#

“Your friend is not here today,” Sephiroth said.

Angeal looked up, startled by the soft sound of his voice. He’d gotten used to having lunches in silence, while Genesis glared sullenly at Sephiroth and Sephiroth barely even glanced at Genesis. Today Genesis was absent, but Angeal had sat at Sephiroth’s table anyway, mostly out of a desire to avoid talking to anyone.

“He’s in sick bay,” Angeal said. “Mako toxicity.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence among new SOLDIER recruits. There was a fine line between a mako dosage that would enhance physical attributes and a dosage that would poison the subject. The sick bay was always full of SOLDIERs sweating out the effects of excessive mako.

“I see.” Sephiroth remained expressionless, impossible to read.

Angeal shrugged. “They say it happens all the time.”

“Hmm. But you’re worried?”

“Yeah,” Angeal admitted. “It seems…different. When we first started here, I saw a couple of guys drop from the toxicity. But I think maybe…” He hesitated. Why he was confiding in _Sephiroth_ of all people, he had no idea. “We don’t get our treatments at the same place as everybody else. Hollander handles Gen and me separately. Last night, I didn’t go because I had an extra training session. Now Gen’s sick and I’m not. It just—it’s probably a coincidence. But it’s eating at me.”

“Gen,” Sephiroth said softly, like he was testing the sound. “You call him a nickname?”

“Sure. We’ve been friends since we were little kids.”

“Hmm.” Sephiroth was quiet for a moment. “I have had my sword since I was a little kid.”

Angeal blinked at him. Sephiroth might be a war hero, a paragon of strength, and Shinra’s most valuable asset, but he was also kind of _weird._

“Hollander is your doctor,” Sephiroth said, thoughtfully. “Is that why your friend dislikes me so?”

Angeal frowned, puzzled. “Genesis doesn’t dislike you,” he said, “and I don’t know what that has to do with Hollander anyway.”

Sephiroth managed to look wildly skeptical with only the slightest raise of a silver eyebrow and a quirk of his mouth.

“Genesis hates being ignored more than anything else,” Angeal clarified. “He should have been an actor, because he thinks the whole world is his audience. Usually, he’s right.”

“I see.” Sephiroth gathered his tray and stood up, acknowledging Angeal with a slight nod. “Tomorrow, then.”

#

There was a point during his bout of mako poisoning that Genesis became convinced the mako had a _voice._

It was a feminine voice, cool and clear as running water, as a single chiming bell. She sang a melody that was not of the planet, sinister and beautiful as black ice. Genesis wanted to fall into her arms and let the sound wash over him like a baptismal font. He wanted to be reborn in her image, to shape the world to conform to her alien will.

_You bear the Calamity,_ she told him. _You carry my cells, you carry my song._

“Mother,” he said, and reached for her.

Cold air washed over his sweat-drenched body like the surf over the shore. A blur of silver, a long black coat. The rhythmic swaying of his body, his arms and legs limp over open space.

_I see how you burn, Genesis._ The whisper overtook him and he closed his eyes again. The mako buzzed beneath his skin like an electric current. _Some are like ice but you burn, my son, you burn._

Someone set him gently onto a firm, cold surface. Close and yet distant, the voices filtered to him through layers of clear water, alight like mako in a reactor.

“This is Hollander’s stupidity…” Wind whistled past his ears as he lay still on the table, a fall, a dream. _How easily you fall._ “…not my problem, Sephiroth.”

“I will let you…” The voices faded, than surged again, louder. “…I won’t fight it this time. I promise.”

“…for this boy?” A nasally cackle, an unpleasant voice. Genesis opened his eyes and caught sight of bright, blinding lights, reflected off thick, round glasses. “Very well. Take off his shirt.”

Genesis was aware of hands on him, gentle and impersonal, and though he attempted some vague resistance, his muscles were beyond his control, and he was no more effective or graceful than a flopping fish.

“Now go,” the nasally voice said. “Fetch Hollander so I can show him what to do to the other one.”

Genesis turned and watched the long fall of silver cross the room before the sting of an needle entered his arm and he slipped under again.

#

The cafeteria buzzed with conversation and laughter all around them. Sephiroth glanced over the top of his book at the two Second Class SOLDIERs who were sitting down at his table. When Sephiroth had left for Wutai a month ago, Genesis was still on a cot in Hollander’s lab. Now, they both seemed to be in top shape. The immersive psychological tests that Sephiroth had agreed to in exchange for Hojo’s help had been disturbing, but perhaps worth it.

“Congratulations,” he said, lowering his book.

“Thanks,” Angeal said, with an open smile, as easy to read as sunshine.

“We’re catching up to you,” Genesis said, tossing his hair. “I think the world is ready for a new hero, don’t you?”

_He hates to be ignored._ Sephiroth could remember Angeal’s advice. He had certainly never meant to ignore Genesis in the first place. It was only that—Genesis was the kind of beautiful that was sometimes hard to look at, for someone like Sephiroth whose life was by necessity so austere. Looking at a man like Genesis was the first step towards wanting, wanting something that wasn’t Shinra-sanctioned or Hojo-approved. 

And if he was being perfectly honest, he also enjoyed the fire that flashed in Genesis’s eyes when Sephiroth’s indifference particularly annoyed him.

“True,” Sephiroth said. “I think Angeal would make a fine hero. The other recruits tell me he is very honorable.”

Genesis narrowed his eyes, but Angeal burst out laughing. “Did you just make a joke?” he asked.

There was an odd sensation, a tugging at the corner of Sephiroth’s mouth like the very beginnings of a smile. “Perhaps,” he said.

Genesis grinned at him, then, and there was something vaguely predatory about the flash of his teeth, something that made Sephiroth’s heart beat a little faster. “ _The arrow has left the bow of the goddess,_ _”_ he said.

“It’s a line from a poem,” Angeal explained, when Sephiroth raised an eyebrow, confused.

“From a poem.” Genesis scoffed. “It is a line from the greatest literary work of all time.”

“What does it mean?” Sephiroth asked.

Genesis gave him a pleased smile and sat up straighter. Angeal groaned, thunking his head gently on the cafeteria table. “Don’t ask him that. Once he gets started, he doesn’t stop.”

“Well. That’s certainly an exaggeration.” Genesis cast an annoyed glance at Angeal. “Now who’s the dramatic one?”

“I’m just saying we’re almost late for our training session.” Angeal nodded at the giant digital clock that was hung over the entryway to the cafeteria. “You’ll have to get into it later.”

“Another time, then.” Genesis’s smile was wide and full of promise as he got up and gathered his tray. “ _Even if the morrow is barren of promises / Nothing shall forestall my return._ ”

For a moment, the hum of the cafeteria faded away and Genesis really did seem like the hero he wanted to become, like he belonged on a battlefield or a stage with the setting sun behind him, not among SOLDIER recruits throwing stale breadrolls at each other beneath Shinra’s awful fluorescent lighting. Sephiroth could picture a red sword at his side, a long coat fluttering in the wind.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Genesis and Angeal left the cafeteria, wondering when they would be given the opportunity to take the SOLDIER First Level trial. He hoped it would be soon. He wanted the chance to fight them both.

**Author's Note:**

> [Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810399/chapters/46905634#workskin)


End file.
